Part 71 (1/2)

”O, Jennie Burton, good angel of G.o.d! he has sent you to me,” cried the rescued man, who with a glad thrill of joy felt that life was coming back in the line of honor and duty.

”Harold Van Berg! what are you doing here?” she asked in wild amazement.

”I was dying till you came and brought me hope and life, as you have to so many others.”

”Thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d,” she panted, and she rushed at the rock that had held him in such terrible durance.

He struggled up and tried to pull her hands away.

”Don't do that, Jennie,” he said, ”you are not quite an angel yet, and cannot 'roll the stone away.'”

”O G.o.d!” she exclaimed, with a sharp cry of agony, ”in some such way and place HE may have died,” and she sank to the ground, moaning and wringing her hands as if overwhelmed with agony at the thought.

Van Berg reached out and took her hand, forgetting for a moment his own desperate need, as he said: ”Dear Jennie, don't grieve so terribly.”

”G.o.d forgive me, that I could forget you!” she said, starting up.

”I must not lose a second in bringing you help.”

But he clung feebly to her hand. ”Wait, Jennie, till you are more calm. My life depends on you now. The hotel is a long way off, and if you start in your present mood you will never reach it yourself, and I had better die a thousand times than cause harm to you.”

She put her hand on her side and her convulsive sobbing soon ceased.

After a moment or two she said quietly: ”You can trust me now, Mr. Van Berg; I won't fail you.”

”Do you think you could bring me a little water before you go?” he asked.

”Yes, there's a spring near; I know this place well,” and it seemed to him that she flitted back and forth like a ray of light, bringing all the water she could carry in a large leaf.

”Oh,” he said, with a long deep breath, ”did ever a sweeter draught pa.s.s mortal lips, and from your hands, too, Jennie Burton. May I die as I would have died here if I do not devote my life to making you happy!”

”I accept that pledge,” she said, with a wan smile that on her pale, tear-stained face was inexpressibly touching. ”It makes me bold enough to ask one more promise.”

”It's made already, so help me G.o.d!” he replied fervently.

A faint, far-away gleam of something like mirth came into her deep blue eyes as she said, ”I've bound you now, and you can have no choice. Your pledge is this--that you will make me happy in my own way. Now, not another word, not another motion; keep every particle of life and strength till I come again with a.s.sistance,”

and she brought him water twice again, silencing him by an imperious gesture when he attempted to speak, and then she disappeared.

”That was an odd pledge that she beguiled me into,” he murmured.

”I fear that in the wiles of her unselfish heart she has caught me in some kind of a trap.” But after a little time he relapsed again into a condition of partial unconsciousness.

Chapter LIV. Life and trust.

Ida did not leave the refuge of her room for several hours after her return from the memorable visit to Mr. Eltinge's garden,--for far more than the long hot drive, her heroic, spiritual conflict with temptation, the sense of immeasurable loss, and the overwhelming sorrow that followed, had exhausted her. As she rallied from her deep depression, which was physical as well as mental, and found that she could think connectedly, she turned to her Bible in the hope of discovering some comforting and rea.s.suring truths spoken by that Friend for whose sake she had given up so much.

These words caught her attention, and in accordance with the simplicity and directness of her nature she built upon them her only hope for the future: ”HE THAT LOSETH HIS LIFE FOR MY SAKE SHALL FIND IT!”

She sighed: ”I have lost that which is life and more than life to me, and it was for Christ's sake. It was because he forgave me and was kind in that awful moment when my crime was crus.h.i.+ng my soul. I could not have given up my chance of happiness just because it was right, but the thought that he asked it and that it was for his sake, turned the wavering scale; and now I will trust him to find my life for me again in his own time and way. As far as this world is concerned, my life probably will be an increasing care of father and others, who, like myself, have, or have had 'a worm i'